


Flash. Bang. Son.

by RobinWritesChirps



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Background Jane/Tom, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Insomnia, Late Night Conversations, Night Terrors, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28940457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinWritesChirps/pseuds/RobinWritesChirps
Summary: In which Tim has night terrors and needs his father to soothe them. Or is it the other way around?Papa Tom loves his son very much.
Relationships: Tim Houston & Tom Houston
Comments: 12
Kudos: 9





	Flash. Bang. Son.

The late hours ticked away at Tom in the dreadful silence of home. Jane was sleeping soundly next to him, her eye mask and earplugs all the way on, for she had a seminar to fly to in the morning and had insisted on quality sleep. How he wished he could make such demands on himself and that his poor body would follow. Often, he felt a hundred years old, a broken soul that had seen and done too much. He pushed a curl of Jane's hair from her forehead and smiled sadly.

 _Unworthy_. The struggles came and went, never a straight path he could hope to follow to its end and get out of, but always he circled back around the same sentiment that he was a sham, that the life he had built ought to be robbed from his unworthy self and handed to a better man. Leant against the headboard, he was not even attempting to fall back to sleep and stared dumbly at his hands and the mistakes of his past. They were a companion as vivid as his wife, as his child every day that he still lived.

Years ago he had left the war field, but he had only survived it in the most basic, most carnal sense of the word. War had never truly left him and he had but to close his eyes to be back in Iraq in his thoughts, terrified out of his mind and ready to die at any moment. His inner tapestry was threaded with remorse for the deeds he had done out there, regrets for what he had not. He had killed with these hands, he had brought misery of a kind no one here in Hatchetfield or even America could understand. Certainly _he_ did not, not when people congratulated and thanked him for his time deployed, heeded like a hero he knew he was anything but. Jane had told him he would be better off to join a support group for veterans, but Tom had always refused to. He had never liked speaking out his shortcomings, not even among his comrades at arms. They plagued him, though, but this was his own burden to bear.

He heard the sniffling before the shuffling of covers all the way across the hall, quickly followed by rapid soft little footsteps and the clicking of doors opening. In moments such as these, it seemed to him that his ears heard a million more sounds, that he saw everything clear as daylight, that the world was out to overwhelm him, but the fretting face of his son only had to appear at the door for him to calm down a little.

"Daddy," Tim whispered, all of five and tender as a peach, "There’s a monster under my bed."

Tom gave him a smile, trying to hide his own torment as he pulled himself out of bed as quietly as he could. Jane tossed over, an arm already occupying his half left vacant. In her dream, she was content and Tom sighed out. He picked up Tim close to him. During the day, the boy swore high and low that he was too big to be picked up anymore but at night, fright made him a mellow little thing and he nestled against his chest. Tom’s smile was more genuine now with this feather weight in his hold, all warm and cuddly and oh so terrified as they made the way to his bedroom.

"There, do you see him? Are you gonna be okay?"

Tom made a perfect show of kneeling down to hunt down the monster, of course, attacking him with a spray bottle he left there just for this exact purpose. The intent was that Tim would learn to tame his fears on his own some day so that soon there would be no need for it at all, but there was yet time for the boy to grow out of his childhood anxieties. Still, as he stood back up after bravely chasing the monster, Tom felt more like a valiant knight than he ever had before. He smiled broadly to reassure Tim.

"Monster’s gone," he said. "Back to sleep now, bud."

But Tim was twisting his hands nervously and shuffling on his feet and Tom took pity on him. Jane often told him he was too soft, that a child needed stricter boundaries to thrive and grow, but what was Tom to do to a poor child lost in his fears in the dark of night? Deep in slumber across the hall, Jane would never know.

"Could you… stay here and… and watch if he doesn’t come back out?" Tim asked hesitantly. "Please?"

Tom took but a heartbeat to decide and nodded shortly. He sat on the armchair in the corner and, before he had time to offer, Tim all on his own grabbed his comforter and climbed on his lap to cover them both snugly under it. Tom wrapped a protective arm around him. He was no longer a baby, not even a toddler and from seeing him among friends Tom could tell he was tall for his age, yet whenever he held him close, Tom still remembered the little squirming bundle of blanket at the hospital and the first time he’d held his son. He passed a hand through the boy’s hair to soothe him, kissed his temple. He felt so quiet. It was Tim who eventually broke the silence in a timid squeak of a voice.

"Daddy, do you ever sleep?"

Tom frowned at the thought and he looked blankly ahead as his brain racked up every possible way to tell his son about the curse of his life so far. How could he possibly explain to Tim that it wasn’t laziness that made him nap every weekend all afternoon but the sheer exhaustion of nights unslept during the week? How could he tell him the horrors he had seen, not imagined in a child’s mind full of fancy but lived and felt and never forgotten? How could he let him know his daddy wasn’t the hero he thought, no matter how acclaimed he was for his service everywhere he went? There would be time for that when the boy would be older, stronger. For now, he had his own monsters to tend to.

"Sometimes, I do. When I can." He thought of Jane and what she would think if he missed an opportunity to impart good judgment on their son. "It’s very important to sleep, bud. Every night."

Tim nodded. His night terrors were not as bad as they had been, anyways, and Tom was certain they would run their course and leave him in due time, but there was no explaining that to a five year old yet.

"Are you too scared?" Tim asked. "Do you need me to protect you?"

Tom blinked, smiled. He kissed the top of Tim’s head and held him closer to him, tighter. Tim sighed out contentedly and Tom felt his tiny hands seize his to hold it.

"Yes," he said. "You’ll be my knight, buddy."

He was feeling a little sleepy already. The bed stared back at him, relentlessly empty of any monster. The worst of monsters were the kind that crept up from inside, of course, but as he held his son against him, Tom felt his angst cleanse away as vividly as if it were material. Filled with love for his son, there was no more room inside himself for the terrors of the past and he felt at peace, ready to take on the rest of the night. In the morning, father and son might get scolded for spending it out of bed, but this was the price he would pay for feeling alive, for feeling strong and capable and brave. Held by his Tim, he felt a purpose to his life that had been missing all along, the key to all his problems.

"Sleep now," he whispered. "Goodnight."

"Night, daddy," Tim replied, his voice thick with tiredness already.

It wasn’t long till he fell asleep, comforted by the paternal embrace around him. Tom felt oddly proud of himself for making the boy feel safe, content. He felt even more proud of Tim for returning the favor through little effort on his part. Cuddling his son, Tom felt like nothing could touch him anymore, that he had won over his fears. They would be back the next day, he was sure, but for the meantime, he was glad to close his eyes and sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE leave a comment, even if you read this in the future long after I’ve posted it!


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